Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
My throat goes dry.
“Then, I throw on some fun date jewelry,” she says, grabbing a necklace from the counter, and quickly clipping it on. “And for the final tweak? I adjust my top from day to night,” she says, then shimmies the sleeves off her shoulders, wriggling them down, showing off more gorgeous flesh.
More kissable skin.
More bare inches of her body.
Monroe was right about one thing—I am definitely in the dating wild tonight.
“There you go,” she says, then takes a pause, before adding, “You can stop shooting, Carter.”
Oh, right. “Of course,” I say, then end the video and put my phone away.
When I look back, I see her wincing as she tugs at the delicate chain. “Ouch. Can you help?” she asks. Then she spins around, showing me the nape of her neck. “I think my necklace is caught in my hair. Can you undo it and redo it?”
I step closer, catching a dangerous hint of her perfume. It smells like orange blossoms and the kind of desire that clobbers you from out of nowhere. It’s dangerous and seductive all at once. I undo the clasp, gently freeing the wisps of hair from it.
“Thank you,” she says, seeming relieved.
“No problem,” I mumble.
But I don’t redo the clasp right away.
The thing is—I have good hands. Great hands. It’s my job to use them to pull footballs from thin air. To have complete control.
My hands are even insured.
Right now, though, they don’t feel steady at all. I’m dying to run a finger down the back of her neck, then along her shoulder blades, to learn how she responds to a gentle touch.
And to a not so gentle one too.
To all sorts of touches from my curious hands.
I close my eyes, fight off the images, then find the will to clasp the necklace.
I don’t deserve an award for not kissing the back of her neck, but I’m giving myself one anyway.
12
SHINY OBJECT, DO YOUR THING
Carter
Walking into a chocolate shop is almost as good as exploring a new hiking trail or trying out a new pass route.
Shiny object, do your thing on my ADHD brain.
And oh hell, do the options here at Elodie’s Chocolates tractor beam my attention their way the second we walk into Rachel’s friend’s shop in Hayes Valley.
As the sensual aroma of decadence floats through the air, it throws me off the scent of orange blossom and onto the scent of dessert.
Win-win.
“Too bad it doesn’t smell good at all in here,” I deadpan.
“I was thinking that very same thing,” Rachel says dryly as she lifts her nose in the air, then sniffs.
We’re enrobed in chocolate, and even though I didn’t pick this place for the sensual assault, it’s working on me in ways I need. I’m in the chocolate zone now.
We check out the countertop displays of little chocolate squares, truffles, and wildly colorful bonbons, some in red with champagne, some in green with fleur de sel, some in purple with praline. Elodie loves colorful chocolates, and it’s one of her signatures in her creations.
The shop is bustling, even on a Tuesday evening. Elodie’s young sister works behind the counter, her twin blonde braids tucked under a pink paisley bandana as she rings up gift boxes. With her hair swept back in a matching black paisley bandana, Elodie answers a customer’s question about the difference between chocolate from Ecuador and Guatemala.
When she’s done a few seconds later, she spots us, then scurries around the counter, dusting her hands on her cherry-red apron.
“Your table is ready, Mr. Hendrix and Ms. Dumont. May I show you to your seats?”
Rachel blinks, then with a confused smile says, “Why, yes, thank you.”
Elodie gestures for Rachel to walk in front of her, then she shoots me a private smile. I return it, grateful for her help. She guides us to the small café in the back of the shop, steering us to a plush red booth set for two. A white card on the table says reserved.
Elodie snatches it and tucks it in the apron’s pouch. Rachel sits, giving me a what is going on look. I shrug innocently though I’m so not.
Playing the part perfectly, Elodie squares her shoulders and says, “I’ve been told you’re quite the chocolate connoisseur, Ms. Dumont. And I’ve prepared a chef’s selection of chocolates just for you,” she says to the woman in pink across from me.
“Wow. Thanks,” Rachel says, still seeming a little bewildered. “I kind of like sweets.”
“You came to the right place. Now, can I get you a chocolate drink while you wait? You might like our Dark Chocolate with Cayenne Pepper. It comes with a splash of tequila.”
Rachel’s amber eyes sparkle with a gleam that says sold. “Yes, please.”
Elodie gives a conspiratorial nod. “Someone told me you like it…hot,” she says, then shifts her attention to me, rattling off more spiked cocoa options. I pick one that has whiskey in it, since why the fuck not combine two of the best tastes ever?